


The Visit

by orphan_account



Series: qichi's tentacle porn [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Other, Tentacles, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless excuse to write Russia watching America get fucked by tentacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visit

The fabric of Russia’s scarf is soft under his hands, fraying and rougher in certain parts, as he waits for America… he’s late, already.

—there’s a loud knock at the door, and a “hey,” and Russia hurries out of his chair to open the door. “America, hello-!” He smiles and embraces America; it has been… a long time, since they last saw each other on terms like this, without paperwork and briefcases. “I can get vodka!” he says, letting go.

“G-Good to see you, too, but uh… coffee?”

Ah. Yes, he always forgets. “I do not have coffee… ah! Um, come in, come in, I have something better, perhaps? Not a drink, but… it is warm, it’s really nice, I-I think… you will like it!”

America raises an eyebrow as he steps in the house, closing the door after himself; he looks incredulous, but… not unwilling. Which is good! Russia thinks America will really appreciate…

“Mm, then come with me~”

The other nation follows easily enough, letting Russia lead him through the hall. His gift for America is in a closet in one of the rooms, covered with a sheet, because that’s what they told him would keep it from, ah… moving around by itself. Russia steps in and opens the closet, removing the sheet.

America steps back a foot or six at the responding mewling. “It’s only waking up, America, come back…”

“What the… hell is that?!”

Pity for the creature swells in Russia’s chest; he’s been at the butt of people’s harsh words, and he feels badly for it, but on the other hand, America is the one who talks with him and, a-ah, other things like that. So — so he doesn’t say anything in defense, just “it’s tentacles…”

“Dude, I’ve _seen_ hentai. The shit, Iv? You do not look like the guy!”

“…what is —”

“This is, um. Weird, bro… really weird. Are you sure you don’t have coffee?”

Russia shrugs. “No. No coffee.” There’s still nothing reassuring in America’s expression, but he nods, and Russia doesn’t quite know what that means but then America’s leaning up, kissing him with his arms looped around Russia’s shoulders. That’s — that’s nice, _really_ nice, so Russia kisses back, has to keep himself from smiling into it…

They pull away from each other eventually. His own cheeks feel a little warmer, but America looks almost _red_ , and Russia tilts his head, wondering why. “Have you thought about —”

“ _Yes_. Um. God.” America glances down into the closet, then nods, again. “This is the fucking _weirdest_ thing, but yeah, yeah. I want it.”

“You are positive?”

“ _I want it._ ”

So they, they get the creature out of the closet, carry it carefully to the middle of the room. It’s quiet, _dormant,_ Russia thinks. He knows how much it… moves, when it wants to, but right now it’s still; the only reminders that it’s a living, organic creature is the dull purr emanating from its center.

They put it down and it stays still, mostly. Its tendrils wave absently in the air, but that’s a default movement, it’s not — doing anything, really.

So he prioritizes America instead: looks at him with a soft smile before pressing close, but not too close that he isn’t able to work at the button and zip of blue jeans, start undressing him. “Wait, hey,” America breathes, “leave my… leave my shirt, okay? I don’t wanna be, like, naked-naked.”

“O…kay?”

He doesn’t understand, but America mutters a sound of thanks, which is good enough, he supposes. Russia kicks the jeans away once they’re off. He lets his fingers trail along the skin of America’s leg, but gestures with an inclination of his head to the creature. “Y-You should go, yes?”

“Do I just… squat over it?”

Russia blinked, and thought. “You could also lie down near it, I suppose?”

But America was shaking his head as he walked over, barefoot. “Naw, I’ll, uh. I’ll go my way.” Russia nodded unseen, and watched.

He began by standing over it, a foot on either side; he then slowly lowered himself, dropping one knee to the ground just before the other. As soon as he was like that, the wafting tentacles seemed to perk into awareness: they grew longer, reaching up. Already three of them snaked under the hem of America’s shirt. Russia could see the shape of them beneath the fabric.

It was slow, a gradual increase of fluids, but eventually Russia noticed that one tentacle was far more… ah, _lubricated_ than the rest. It seemed a little bit bigger, too, slightly different in shape. Less mucous than all its brethren — more… familiar.

H-He remembered it well.

It’s rising up, and then it goes in far more easily than it looks like it should. America lets out a little noise; Russia unconsciously mirrors it. America looks… good like that.

The tentacle speeds up, then, slowly but surely, until Russia isn’t sure quite when they crossed the line between _getting ready_ and _doing it_ but it’s, it’s definitely happening, now. America’s being shoved into over and over again. He’s trying to grip his fingers around other tentacles, like they’ll give him some traction, and he’s _bouncing_ , giving it his all — Russia feels very lucky to see this, and… in time, America cries out. His body tenses in such a way that Russia realizes he must be — he is.

After everything, the tentacles retract. They’re back in their dormant position. He doesn’t know… why, but doesn’t question it. That’s just how they work. America stands, then, once he’s able, managing only to walk far enough to collapse into Russia’s embrace.

“A-ah, America?”

“Dude,” and he’s panting heavily, but continues, “I was squatting the whole time. My legs fuckin’ hurt.”

Russia is unsure if this has — he asks. “Was it alright…”

“ _God yes._ But, uh, I might need that vodka.”


End file.
